


To Teach Respect

by SeraphHT



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Blood and Violence, F/M, One Shot, Power Play, Prompt Fill, Sexual Tension, Tenderness, but not really a brawl lol coz f!lw beats his ass, butch gets taken down a notch coz of his ego, fill for the kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphHT/pseuds/SeraphHT
Summary: Butch DeLoria, so smug and untouchable and full of himself. He doesn't know what it's like to meet somebody who's more than his match. But don't worry. She's going to change that. (A fill for the kinkmeme)
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	To Teach Respect

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite some time ago on the original Fallout Kinkmeme on Livejournal. Basically, the request was that the OP wanted Butch to be taken down a notch by getting his ass beat. This is an edited version of my original post on livejournal.

The door was kicked open so loud that Butch nearly dropped his glass.

“What in the world?” Belle Bonny grumbled, straining to look at the stairs from her place behind the counter.

Looking up, Butch saw his childhood “friend” stomping down, her legs looking impossibly good in her tight vault suit. His eyes followed her hips as she drew nearer, thinking of how her body looked like under the clothes, tearing his gaze away to bring the glass of whiskey to his lips only when she was standing next to him.

He took a sip. “What is it?” he asked, then looked up at her.

Her eyes had a dark look in them. It slightly startled him.

Slightly.

Myla placed a hand on the bar counter, lowering her face just a little. “I don’t know what bullshit you promised Angela, so let me take a wild guess,” she spoke almost quietly, but her voice was seething with a caged anger that matched her eyes. “You said you love her? You’d make an honest woman of her?”

Oh, she was furious. Butch chuckled. “Oh Lolly, you know me so well.”

Her fingers clenched around the counter edge. Butch paused, for only a split second. Part of him was amused because he knew how much Myla hated that nickname. Yet there was another part, somewhere in the back of his mind, warning him of something dangerous.

Dangerous? Her.

Bullshit. The pipsqueak? Impossible.

He met her eyes.

“Then you take her to bed,” she continued, “and deflower her, avoid her for days, then straight out say to her face that you ‘aren’t interested anymore’?”

“Deflower? Is that what you call it?” he almost laughed, had an amused smile instead.

“I swear this isn’t funny, Butch,” Myla was losing her patience. “You knew Diego chose the church over her and you took advantage of the loneliness she felt. She’s a fucking mess now.”  
  
Belle Bonny made an unimpressed sound. “That girl shouldn’t have been so cheap—“  
  
“Shut it, bitch,” Myla snarled. The other woman visibly flinched.

His body tensed ever so slightly. If looks could kill, Belle Bonny would be dead. Deep down, he felt a tinge of… dread.

At Myla? What a fucking joke. What could she do to him? He could put a bullet in her head if he wanted to. His ego rose, effectively burying the alarm rising in his chest. Since when did she get brave enough to talk to him like that. Stupid cunt.

“Butch, it would be hell if the rest of the city, especially her father, finds out about what happened,” she inched her face slightly closer. “And I don’t think it’ll be hell for her. It’ll be hell for you. So save your ass the trouble by—“  
  
“By the time word gets out, I’m long gone,” he arched a brow. “ _If_ word gets out. What she gonna say, huh? That she willingly gave herself to me?”

Myla stared at him, expression unreadable, and he grinned. “Besides, I’m only in trouble if I live here. Tunnel Snakes don’t adapt to just one place, see? They take what they want and move on.”  
  
“Take what they—for fuck’s sake,” she took a deep breath. “An apology isn’t much to ask for, you little dipshit. It’s a start to help her process that sadness, and save your ass from getting beat by Harkness.”

Butch smirked lazily. “I don’t answer to nobody.”

He studied her expression, but couldn’t read it. Her lips pursed and her gaze fell downcast as she took her hand off the counter bar.

Feeling triumph well up in his chest, he took another sip of whiskey. That’ll teach her to talk like she’s better than him.

Just as he placed his glass on the counter, a weight on his shoulder pushed him back from his stool. He crashed onto the floor, the back of his head and shoulders taking most of the impact.

“Fuck!” he hissed, the sharp pain thumping in his skull. His hands flew up to cradle his head. Instinct. He didn’t know what happened.

In his shock, something held on to the back of his jacket’s collar, dragging him away to the other side of the room, away from the bar. His eyes were still shut tight from the pain.

Then, the side of his head was pushed and slammed against the wall.  
  
He screamed, coiling into a fetal position as both hands cupped over the sharp ache, eyes hot and watery. His mind was shouting. Threat.

There was a beast in that cage, Butch, you let it out.

“The fuck…” he strained hard to look, and saw Myla’s blurry figure walking farther away from his position to approach the bar.

She finished the remainder of his whiskey and set the glass back down on the counter.

“You little bitch,” he got on all fours in a struggling attempt to get up. The task was difficult with his mind still reeling from the pain.

Myla approached and kicked him squarely in the stomach. With the wind knocked out of him, his elbows gave way and Butch collapsed, pain searing him. She looked down, the disinterest in her face betrayed by eyes full of hatred.

“I think getting Harkness here is going to take way too long,” she said, “and I don’t think it’ll do you any good. For a pretty boy like you, it takes a _woman,_ who ain’t worth any of your respect, to teach you something.”

Something warm dribbled down next to his ear. Placing a hand to the side of his head, he winced at the sight of crimson on his fingers. Blood. His blood. He felt anger swell inside him, his pride hurt, his ego bruised.

The nerve of this bitch.

His perception was taking forever to clear out but he could see her silhouette. He’d fucking teach her. “You ain’t shit, Lolly.”

“Try me, Butch,” Myla taunted, her fists raised, poised to fight. “You won’t even touch me.”

Butch lunged towards her, swinging a fist. She dodged it effortlessly, lifting an arm to block his punch from the other side, before sending an uppercut of her own.

So strong, Butch felt his bottom jaw crash into his upper teeth as he flew backwards.  
  
As he stumbled and spat blood, Myla went gracefully forward and threw more hits, to his face, his ribs, his stomach, and wherever he wasn’t attempting to block, continuous and relentless, Butch unable to stop her.

His mind was a throbbing fusion of pain, anger, exhaustion, dizziness… and fear.

Then she hit a space right below and between the ribs. He almost threw up, the pain weakening his defense, and he received a forceful of knuckle against his teeth. It sent him crashing against the wall.  
  
Not trusting his body to support him, Butch leaned on the wall, still too stubborn to allow his knees rest, arrogantly standing. Hurt pride. Scared shitless. He spat out something, watching a shiny white object fly across the room. The dull metal taste stung in his mouth. Blood was all over his face and shirt.

She was still looking good in that suit. Fuck. He didn’t even scratch her.

Looking at her face, he finally saw it. She let it show. Resentment. Anger. Something in him broke. No more arrogance. Defenseless.

Danger.

“You make me so angry,” she seethed, and his reaction time didn’t allow the privilege of blocking the punch for his chin. “You ignorant, self-consumed son of a bitch!”

Then the ribs, and to his face, again, again, and Butch could do nothing but take it.

The onslaught stopped and she pulled back. He saw where her eyes went. With horror, it took him every ounce of energy he had to catch her fists before they reached their target. “Whoa! Lolly, not there, oh God, _please not there_ ,” he pleaded, pleaded like a bitch in the dirt, arms shaking as he tried to contain the fury in Myla’s bruised knuckles from punching him in the groin.

Not there. Not in front of everybody. Don’t humiliate me. Please.

She pulled back. He felt an odd sense of gratitude for her decency. Something he lacked, or just something he didn’t want to give to her because of his ego.

Her knee flew into his stomach and he fell back, sliding to the floor in a seated position, coughing blood, shuddering violently. He didn’t know how long he did this, just hurt so much, he wanted to escape his body. Dizziness. Pain. Blood, its taste and smell.

When his spams were finally over, he stared at the floor and at her feet, at his red-soaked attire, through watery eyes. He was half-blinded by the tears. His head still pounded. Butch was afraid. If he looked down, she might kick him in the face, but if he looked up, she might punch him instead.  
  
After a minute of silence, she kneeled and took his face in her hands. He recoiled, a reflex of fear, eyelids fluttering, expecting another hit.

But it never came. 

With one hand holding his chin, she used the other to rub over his eyes, wiping away some of the tears and blood.  
  
He looked at her, unsure what the gesture meant, trembling and afraid because he didn’t understand. Her mouth opened. He expected a spit, but she spoke instead.  
  
“Only when your eyelashes are covered in blood do I notice how long they are,” she murmured, so quietly. Her voice was so soft now. “It’s a shame I have to be so violent to see the beauty in you, Butch.”  
  
They stayed like that, for some time. His eyes were locked onto hers, trying desperately to read them, mind racing. But she was just observing him and he realized how close she was. He looked down at her lips.

So close.

After moments that felt like hours, Myla stood up and walked away. He nearly collapsed when she let him go. He felt strangely empty.

“She’ll be in my room at The Weatherly Hotel in two hours. Look clean and… un-beaten up, or something. Apologize to her.” She stopped at the base of the stairs, and looked at him over her shoulder. “Or else.”

Butch couldn’t even nod, and he watched her leave, his face sticky from the blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Do leave kudos.


End file.
